What can a respectable Regency miss do when kidnapped by a nobleman intent on marriage? Why, marry him, of course.

Julia Frant has secretly loved Alec MacLean, the wild Viscount Hunterston from afar. So when he accidentally snatches her instead of her lovely, scheming cousin for an elopement to Gretna Green, Julia leaps at the chance to make her passionate dreams come true.

Alec's in no position to quibble: if he doesn't marry by midnight and live scandal-free for a year, he loses his inheritance. At least marriage with do-gooder Julia will guarantee his fortune. But as his plain brown wren transforms herself into an elegant swan, Alec suddenly can't stay away from his last-minute wife--and when he kisses her, the inheritance is the last thing on his mind. Unfortunately, scandal can occur from the best of intentions...and Julia is never short of good intentions!What can a respectable Regency miss do when kidnapped by a nobleman intent on marriage? Why, marry him, of course.What can a respectable Regency miss do when kidnapped by a nobleman intent on marriage?Why, marry him, of course.

Julia Frant has secretly loved Alec MacLean, the wild Viscount Hunterston from afar. So when he accidentally snatches her instead of her lovely, scheming cousin for an elopement to Gretna Green, Julia leaps at the chance to make her passionate dreams come true.

Alec's in no position to quibble: if he doesn't marry by midnight and live scandal-free for a year, he loses his inheritance. At least marriage with do-gooder Julia will guarantee his fortune. But as his plain brown wren transforms herself into an elegant swan, Alec suddenly can't stay away from his last-minute wife---and when he kisses her, the inheritance is the last thing on his mind. Unfortunately, scandal can occur from the best of intentions...and Julia is never short of good intentions!

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Excerpt:

It was a hell of a night for an elopement. After three miserable hours, the rain had finally ceased. A ghostly blanket of fog crept along the edges of the narrow one-lane road, glowing eerily in the scattered moonlight.

Alec MacLean, fifth Viscount Hunterston, pulled the coach to a thundering halt in the yard of the Black Anvil Inn. Mud splattered the inn door and sent wispy spirals of mistscuttering across black puddles.

"A woman who'd keep ye waitin' at the altar will stop at nothin' to annoy the spit out of ye," the old groom prophesied glumly.

Alec ignored him and climbed down from the perch. Johnston was a family heirloom of sorts, with a Welshman's habitual sullen disposition. Though normally Alec argued against such a dour outlook, on this occasion he feared the groom was right.

The coach door creaked as his passenger tried to open it from within. Johnston granted. "Door's stuck agin."

"A pity, but we've no time to linger." Alec consulted his watch. It was barely ten. Considering the condition of the road from London, he had made remarkable time.

The noise from the coach increased to a firm knocking that lasted an annoying length of time. Johnston eyed the equipage with an interested gaze. "Her ladyship seems a mite determined. Do ye think she's changed her mind 'bout marryin' ye?"

"With the amount of money I stand to inherit? Highly unlikely." Spoiled and vain, Therese had made her objectives plain from the beginning. She wanted money, power, and position.

The thought turned his stomach. He had eschewed polite society his entire life, hating its hypocrisy and vapid politeness, only to end up here, dragging his heels all the way to the altar with the catch of the season.

The coach swayed more furiously as the steady knocking was replaced by loud, determined thumping, along with a muffled demand for release. Alec sighed and replaced his watch in an inner pocket. "I suppose we can spare ten minutes, but no more. Have the horses changed, Johnston. They've bad to fight this damnable mud the entire way."

The old groom shook his head. "Ye shouldn't have waited so long to plan yer nuptials. Pushin' yer luck a mite far, if ye ask me."

"As crusty as the old lord, ain't ye? There weren't nary a thing ye could do with him neither, once he set his mind on somethin'." The groom -eyed the wildly rocking coach. "Though ye may have met yer match."

Alec nodded and the old groom shuffled into the inn, wisps of night fog swirling about his boots. Steeling himself, Alec tamed toward the coach. Better to get it over with, and quickly. Fortunately, he knew exactly how to deal with his bride-to-be.

Therese Frant was far from the demure innocent she presented to society. Too many times since she'd discovered the extent of his inheritance, the chit had attempted to drag him into a secluded alcove and plaster herself against him.

Therese's mother, a notoriously lax chaperone, did little to stifle her daughter's high spirits. Instead, the duty of keeping a watchful eye on the sensual Therese fell to a cousin of some sort, a plain dab of a female who took her duties so seriously that members of the ton had dubbed her the "Frant Dragon." Peering through her thick spectacles, the Dragon did what she could to quell Therese's...